Co-Author
by CulinaryChef
Summary: Arthur, powerful but forgotten son of the Kirkland conglomerate, had World Star High wired to his liking. No one asked questions, no one said anything to his face. Enter Alfred F. Jones, the new student whose mission is to discover the real Arthur who's been hiding behind tight pants and leather jackets – thereby helping Arthur to edit the story he didn't know he was writing.
Alfred Franklin Jones (as he liked to be called) never had any trouble making friends. He had only been at World Star High for two days, and already he had made friends with the math team, the drama club, the orchestra, half the cheerleading squad, and the soccer and volleyball coaches.

With his good sense of humor and seemingly endless optimism, Alfred could fit in no matter where he went. Beautiful blonde hair with a curious cowlick pointing upwards, thin wire-rimmed glasses, striking blue eyes, a smile to light up a room and a laugh that could be heard a mile away, Alfred was the friend you wanted to be friends with. It's no wonder that within two short days, he had won over most everyone at the school.

Everyone except Arthur Kirkland.

–

To Arthur James Kirkland, the school was his domain. He didn't run the roost, so to speak – he was neither popular nor well-liked at this sad excuse of an institution – but donning a leather jacket and his prominent family's name, Arthur had the place wired. Teacher would frown at his tight chained pants and nose stud but would accept his tardy and often messy papers all the same because he was a Kirkland, and the Kirklands had a long and influential history of this town and all its spheres, including these miserable hallowed halls.

He was used to getting what he wanted. No one thought twice, no one asked questions – at least not to his face.

Ever proud of his British heritage, Arthur liked to believe that the sun never set on his personal empire that was World Star High.

And that blonde bespectacled American was proving quite the threat to that empire.

–

Lunch time had arrived, and given the current rainstorm, Arthur couldn't hang out in his usual spot outside by the doors of the gymnasium. He instead sat in one of the musty blue chairs in the back of the empty auditorium.

And then, in the first of what was to be a series of many instances, Alfred F. Jones walked in on Arthur's space.

Well, it wasn't him directly or by himself. But the principle still stuck.

Alfred entered the auditorium through the stage, accompanied by Mathias, the spiky-haired Dane in the drama club.

"Let me show you the set we're working on!" Mathias led Alfred across the stage to some papier-mâché trees or rocks or what have you – Arthur didn't know, nor did he care to find out. "This is our pride and joy. It doesn't look like much yet, but it will be."

"That's so cool!" chimed Alfred. "What play is it?

"The Wizard of Oz."

"No kidding, I love that play!"

 _Could they be any louder?_ thought Arthur as he tried to ignore them and eat his lunch. The world was peaceful and quiet, and he was alone – which was just the way he liked it. Then that stupid Dane had to bring that stupid American in to talk about the stupid play. No matter. Arthur had had enough of the auditorium. He took one last bite of his sandwich and stood up to leave.

This did not go unnoticed by the two on stage.

"Someone's here?" Alfred wondered aloud.

"Oh that's Arthur. He's always hanging out here and there. And always by himself," Mathias added sadly.

 _Certainly an interesting fashion choice,_ Alfred noted. He called out, "Arthur!"

Arthur knew better, but he turned around to meet the American's gaze.

In the brief two and a half seconds that they locked eyes, Alfred could see a sadness in Arthur's eyes.

Then the Brit gave a little "Hmph" as he shuffled out of the auditorium, mentally chiding himself for a moment's display of weakness.

A defeated Alfred turned to Mathias. "What did I do wrong?"

"Nothing, he just hates everyone," assured Mathias.

"Well that's not good. No one should hate everyone. No one should hate _anyone_."

Mathias rested a hand on Alfred's shoulder. "You're a good man, Jones. Maybe you can break him down, be the friend he needs. Figure out why he's so bitter all the time."

"Yeah," Alfred agreed absentmindedly, thoughts still with the young man who just seemed so… so sad. So broken. And it broke his own heart to see someone like that.

–

Until recently, Arthur spent the long lonely after-school hours in the abandoned park by the school, or walking the bike path several blocks until he got to the cemetery, where he would spend hours on end reading the names on the tombstones to get ideas for characters for stories he wanted to write.

He enjoyed writing. He really did. Sure the papers he handed in for class would be late and written in scribbles, but the content was engaging and well thought-out. Fiction was comforting to him. He could dream up worlds of his own, worlds where he was free to be whoever he wanted to be. He could be a perfect son, a perfect brother, and the characters he created had loving families who spent too much time together eating ice cream for dinner and tickling their children until they begged for mercy.

It was perfect.

It was his guilty pleasure.

It was an escape where he could be Arthur the creator instead of Arthur the lowly second son.

Arthur knew he would never measure up to the standard that was his older brother, William. Red-haired and driven, William brought home almost perfect grades from college. Arthur lost track of how many times his father said that William was the "model son" and would make a stellar addition to the Kirkland conglomerate one day, but Arthur could count the times that his father had told him "I love you, Artie" or "Well done, Arthur" on one hand.

From the beginning, William was the clear favorite.

Arthur didn't remember when he stopped trying, but he one day he guessed he simply got sick of being shoved to the side and learned to embrace it, or at least told himself to. Thus, the leather-glad, foul-mouthed Arthur was born, coming home late at night or sometimes not even at all. This way, "Punk England" as he liked to call it was out of his parents' way (and most everyone else's).

Now his parents were adopting another son.

Some little Li Xiang from China, whose family had been doing business with the Kirklands for years. The circumstances of the death and/or disappearance of Li Xiang's parents were unknown to Arthur, but he guessed that the Kirklands had offered or at least agreed to take in the little boy to maintain good relations with the Chinese family, a precious and reliable client of the Kirkland empire.

The visits to the cemetery were getting fewer and farther between, as his parents insisted on having him home to help with the preparations for Li Xiang's arrival. It was nice to have his parents finally paying him some attention, albeit under unfavorable circumstances.

Arthur didn't know how he would adjust when Li Xiang came to live with them next month, so he continued his comforting routine of wearing his studs and jackets and hanging out at the cemetery whenever he could, collecting names for stories that would become everything he knew he needed them to be.

In his writings, he created an escape from this miserable reality, a relief from his pathetic existence.

So he wrote his own realities, painfully fictional as they were.

And for now, that had to be good enough.

–

Of course, Alfred was not going to know about any of this.

Ideally, no one at school was going to find out about the sad and lonely life of Poor Mister Kirkland, but especially not loud-mouthed nosy blondes.

So why Arthur agreed to sit with Alfred at lunch was beyond him.

Maybe to finally get him to shut up.

For the past two weeks, Alfred had been trying to get to know Arthur better (or at least at all). From casually hanging by Arthur's locker to staying after class and pretending to talk with the teacher until Arthur had packed up and was ready to leave the classroom, Alfred had been nothing short of a thorn in Arthur's side. Arthur knew something was up, and he didn't like it.

So Arthur bit the bullet and accepted Alfred's offer to sit with him at lunch, even taking the invitation a step further and offering to show Alfred his own special dining spot outside by the entrance to the gymnasium.

"This is a cool little nook you got here," Alfred started as he unwrapped his sandwich.

"Did Mathias put you up to this?" came Arthur's curt reply.

Alfred blinked. "What?"

"You heard me. Did Mathias ask you to come and spy on me, or stalk me, whatever you're—"

"What? Dude, no. I'm doing this because I want to."

 _Want to? Why would someone willingly keep tabs on him?_ "Alfred," Arthur began in a stern tone. "I know Mathias said something to you in the auditorium the other day. I don't know what, and I won't pry, I at least have the decency to refrain from that. But—"

He was cut off by Alfred snickering.

Arthur raised a busy brow. "Pardon? Did I say something to amuse you?"

This only made Alfred chuckle more.

"Alfred!" Arthur was growing impatient. He wanted to have a serious chat with Alfred, discover why the American was so infatuated with him.

Alfred took a deep breath. "Sorry," he said, wiping a tear from his eye. "Just… you sound so you."

"So me? You don't even know me."

"Because you don't give me the chance," Alfred replied simply. "In class and in the hall, you're always all ' _Hmph!'_ and _'I_ _couldn't care less,'_ but it's nice to learn the real you. The you that says things like ' _decency'_ and ' _refrain_ ' and ' _did I say something to amuse you_?' It's just really cute.

There was a long silence, then Arthur's eyes softened, to Alfred's delight. Those green eyes even seemed to smile.

"It's funny," Arthur spoke in a gentle tone for the first time. "Normally in stories, it's the original student who wants to learn all the details of the new student."

Alfred regarded his classmate curiously, mid-bite of his sandwich.

Arthur took this as his cue to continue. "It's… to quote you, it's nice. To have the new student want to learn about the student who was there first, I mean."

A knowing smile graced Alfred's lips. "You're a writer." It was a comment, not a question.

"Yes I am." Arthur felt compelled to answer truthfully. He felt so natural here with Alfred. "I dabble. I write fiction mostly."

"Your writing's good."

"Excuse me?"

Alfred nodded. "The teacher showed me. The other day when I stayed behind in English class? I was asking for help for that short story assignment we had to write, and the teacher gave me a copy of your paper and said ' _This is the best you'll find. Read his work._ '

Next to the day a five-year-old Arthur managed to finally pin William to the ground instead of the older one always having the victories in the wrestling matches they used to have, nothing had ever made Arthur as happy. "He thinks I'm a good writer?"

"More than that, Arthur. Your writing's really good. Why don't you let people see this side of you? The side that you're letting me see right now. The real you. I bet they'd like it. I know _I_ like it," he added softly.

A faint red tint danced across Arthur's cheeks. "Because," he said defensively, "I just can't."

"Sure you can. Mathias said that you need a friend. So maybe that was all you needed!~"

"And what else did Mathias say?"

"Nothing, I swear."

Arthur crossed his arms. "Alfred."

"Nothing!"

Arthur sighed and relaxed. "So… he didn't say I was a hopeless case?"

"No."

"Nor did he say I was a jealous little brother?"

"Not at all, but now you gotta tell me. I wanna know."

"Trust me, Alfred, you don't."

"Yes I do!" Alfred resting a hand on top of Arthur's, his own cheeks warm with a tender passion. "Tell me everything."

So Arthur told him everything, from being the forgotten son, to the walks around the cemetery, to the new baby brother he was getting next month that he knew next to nothing about.

It just felt so raw, so real. Like the conversations in his beloved original stories. The two boys sat and talked for what seemed like an hour but what felt like only mere minutes, Arthur sheepishly revealing his fears and insecurities, and Alfred patiently listening and offering words of assurance when appropriate.

They were even late for next period. It wasn't Arthur's first time, although it was going to be one of his last. But for Alfred, it was worth it. He had finally cracked Arthur Kirkland. He had done what Mathias set him out to do, and a little of what his heart told him to do.

It even ended in a promise for Alfred to visit Arthur's house in the coming week or two.

–

Arthur had Alfred over the day before Li Xiang came.

Mr. and Mrs. Kirkland had been running around the place all afternoon, finalizing forms and sending emails and calling a handful of people to confirm arrangements for Li Xiang's flight to America.

Arthur figured it was a nice introduction to the family. With the Kirklands finally paying half a mind to their son, even asking him to be a good big brother, Arthur thought it was a good a time as any to invite Alfred into his private life.

Surprisingly his parents had even allowed Alfred to accompany them the following day when they went to go pick up Li Xiang.

Arthur was glad for Alfred's presence; he didn't know what to expect regarding the little boy.

–

He certainly didn't expect to fall instantly in love with the kid.

Li Xiang was just so… so cute

On the car ride home for the first time as a full family, Arthur gave the child the name of Leon, from a tombstone he had seen several days before. Alfred suggested that Li Xiang could have a "cool new name in addition to your current one." Arthur instantly thought of "Leon. He had liked that name upon reading it at the cemetery, repeating it to himself for a good minute, enjoying the strong and graceful feeling of it on his tongue. He wanted his new brother to be graceful and strong like the name.

The vote was unanimous: Leon it was. Mr. Kirkland praised his son on his intelligence, and his wife agreed that a name in addition to the current one would help the little boy settle into his new home.

In turn, Arthur – who had always had a natural affinity for languages – picked up a book on Chinese at the school library the next day.

–

The weeks that followed brought changes to everyone in the household – welcomed changes. Leon transitioned smoothly into his new home, smoother than Arthur had anticipated. Alfred came around more, and Arthur began wearing William's plaid hand-me-downs, a look that Alfred said was "very fitting and kinda cute." (This would result in Arthur tossing one of the shirts in Alfred's face as he implored him to hush.)

Arthur turned in his assignments on time and sent apology letters to each teacher for acting like such a delinquent in the past.

And best of all, Arthur's parents spent more and more time with the whole family.

Like in his beloved stories, Arthur suggested that the family go out for ice cream dinner one night. They all enjoyed it until Leon got sick. Poor child hadn't had much dairy and was unaccustomed to it.

All that night, Arthur stayed by Leon's bed, reciting for him the stories he had written. As Arthur kissed a sleeping Leon's forehead, he vowed that he didn't need to write these stories anymore. He had no further need for the fictional paradise he so desperately craved, the hypothetical world where everything was as it should be.

He was living it.

–

Arthur and Alfred took Leon to the county fair.

They took him to see "The Wizard of Oz" at the high school.

And Arthur took Alfred to the prom.

–

The rest of the school year flowed as swimmingly as Arthur could hope.

Alfred and he began dating, and Arthur brought him (and Leon, who was becoming quite the lovable tagalong) to the cemetery for nice chats, and the occasional namesake to borrow for a future writing project. He no longer had to rely on his works of fiction as an outlet to live, but he loved writing them all the same. His father even said to keep his grades up and he could get into a good creative writing program for college.

Some of the tight pants and the leather jackets had been packed away, but not all. Arthur still loved the feeling of the material on his skin. Although the attitude of "Punk England" had dissipated, the attire had remained. After all, he had Punk England to thank for giving Alfred something to break him out of and discover the real Arthur that had been there all along. The outfit had brought the two young men together, effectively serving as the catalyst for Arthur to start writing his own story – a story of a boy, of brothers, of a romantic love found and a familial love rekindled. And Arthur looked forward to each and every new chapter.


End file.
